Dear Mom -
Happy Birthday. It has been way too many years since we celebrated together. Consider this a card of sorts. I have been sharing so much of your story with my new memoir group. I think you would love to be in our writing group. It is filled with so many amazing women and with stories that we rarely get to tell one another. Tracy is the teacher, we met in yoga. You would admire her as I do.
After attending my share of Shaman, and mediums, I now feel sure that you are holding the girls. I feel safe knowing this, and have come to count on it when I am often lost in parenting. There is a lot of What Would Ellen Do, as I walk through my days. But, truth be told, nobody did anything quite like you.
I remember all of Danna’s cute guy friends, Bob included, rounding that custom table you designed in the kitchen at 52 Hubbard. They loved to be around you. When you would feign recalling what their precious nickname was for you, to be able to hear it once more… “What was that name again,” you would say?
Hot Mom. HM. I mean, who would not revel in that reflection?
My group, was a gaggle of girls. A mix of neighborhood friends like Irene, and Lisa and Diana, Kim and Kim and Barbara. Sometimes you would let them smoke at the table. Smoke. Imagining that these days makes me laugh. Of course I could not, and should not and would never in front of you. But we all did back then. I used to sneak one from your pack of Marlboro reds, and share it at the bus stop. It was gross, and also felt so grown up. Smoke rings and all.
You would regale the girls with your Thoroughly Modern Millie way in the world. Encouraging us all to be our own women. Have our own checkbooks, and bank accounts when and if we were to marry. Or remarry. You told us all about therapy. Once you told Danna and I that you were afraid of the kind of women we would have grown to be had you not left your first marriage. You even divorced Dad in a way that was your own, remaining friends. This was fodder and fierce knowing from your time in therapy. You always believed it was not to be a crutch, but a place to arrive and work out your issues and move along with what you earned and learned.
You suggested college and career paths to a few friends who did not have parents that were as knowing as you, or had explored different paths. You helped craft and edit a few one of a kind essays for them. What a beacon.
I recalled recently, your work with the woman’s shelter in Red Bank and The Arc. I remember the day you said, how can we sell million dollar homes when some people don’t have a place to safely put their heads down at night. You raised so much money for them through concerts at The Count Basie Theater that they were ripely funded. I recall making baggies of lady needs so that they would have those too when they escaped harm. It was hard for me to understand then, but as always you were a leader and a teacher.
Remember when the family moved in down the block and we got a yellow sign on the street “Deaf Child Area”. When Danna asked what that meant, you told her a young boy moved in who could not hear. If cars knew, and saw him in the street they would realize that beeping would not clear the block. She went on in 4th grade to go to Brookdale Community College to learn sign language (two levels!) and to be his babysitter. We had a crazy block in River Plaza. So many friends share their reflections of their time with you. Sharing you always felt like a treat.
You made a trip to Carvel an adventure. You made language come to life. You made being your daughter prideful no matter where we went. People adored you and complimented you always. You let us take off days of school to see a show, or shop. The School of Mom was always the greatest teaching. I too am always on “E” in the car, and it makes me think of you. Now the cars tell you how many miles you have left till you run out. I still think of your battle cry, no time to stop while we were getting it all done — “Lean forward girls, we are running on luck.”
Gosh how I wish you had been a “Grandy” as you asked to be called. Your four grandkids are a collective marvel. I think you would likely be more impressed with the Mom Danna has become over me. Imagine her being the one of us who is more strict? Of course she is still the one of us who is more kind — even when she is cross is soft. It is her way. She is my home. You gave me the greatest gift in her.
I thought recently about all of our homes. Wallace Road with the crazy candy lady up the block. Those silver dollar gummies and Bazooka pieces for a penny. It was creepy in retrospect and you probably should not have let us go there alone. The Mylar wallpaper in the kitchen and cool domed light that swagged. The fire engine red Formica table in Danna’s room you designed that fit in the corner and tucked in twin beds just so to create day beds. My Campaign furniture.
I clocked a lot of time sitting on the top of the toilet seat watching you layer shades of Borghese eye shadows on from the annual Christmas collection. A gift that was always on your list. You were really so good at make up. I don’t know that you ever realized your true beauty.
I recalled today how you taught us to shimmy and do the twist and share some of your hustle moves from dance lessons with Peter.
Remember when you came up to Wico and spoke at campfire. Danna and I visited and sat at the Old Pine and so much was new, but also the same. Being a camper there and an alumnus was the gift of a lifetime. We still talk to so many camp friends.
It feels so nice to write to you. It also feels filled with longing. It has been way to many days without you. I will buy something discount in your honor today. And long for a sign. I love you like no girl ever loved her mother. This much I know for sure.
If you have any pull where you are, which I am certain you do, can you please deliver us Joe and Kamala? Please.
Love you Mom.
Happy Birthday to the one and only.
x, B.
